


these mishaps

by dettiot



Series: beauty in the breakdown [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 01:43:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5398127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dettiot/pseuds/dettiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>these mishaps/you bubble-wrap/when you've no idea what you're like</i>.  A one-shot collection set in the same universe as <b>beauty in the breakdown</b>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	these mishaps

**Author's Note:**

> As I was working on **beauty in the breakdown** , I got lots of feedback from readers, wanting more. They definitely wanted to know more about what Felicity was thinking and feeling, but there were also other questions raised throughout the fic. This collection of one-shots gives me the chance to fill in those blanks for all my readers, as well as showing some backstory and fleshing out events that are mentioned in the original fic but not fully explored. I hope you enjoy this series! Title comes from Let Go by Frou Frou.
> 
> This first story is set about a year and a half prior to the events of **beauty in the breakdown**. The rating for now is Teen, but it may change and will be updated if necessary. I don’t know when the next one-shot will come out, but I can guarantee it will be from Felicity’s POV.

It wasn’t the fanciest hotel room John Diggle had ever been in. But it was pretty damn close. And since he wasn’t sure exactly why he was here, the luxury of the room was making him consider several different possibilities. 

After a year of protecting rich spoiled brats, any appeal that private security once held had faded away. Sure, it was steady work, and he got to stay close to Andy and Carly, but . . . this was a long way from the 105th and Kandahar and actually making a difference.

And a long way from Lyla. 

Giving his head a shake, John swept his eyes over his surroundings one more time. The Starling Grand was the most upper-crust hotel in town, and this suite must cost a pretty penny. His initial information was that he was meeting with a woman named Felicity Smoak, but the file had been pretty skimpy on details. Which meant this woman had to be rolling in cash, if she was allowed to be this circumspect right off the bat. 

“Mr. Diggle?” 

The voice was female, soft, and young. Turning around, he saw that young was understating it: even with this woman’s attempts to look older, she couldn’t hide her youth. He guessed she couldn’t be more than twenty-two. 

Her dress was a bright blue, sleekly tailored and professional but with an asymmetrical neckline that hinted at her cleavage. A pair of glasses perched on the end of her nose and a low, curly ponytail gave her a studious look, but still--she was so damn _young_. 

Especially with that bright smile on her face.

“That’s me,” he said, holding his hand out to her. 

“Felicity Smoak,” she said, giving him a firm handshake and then gesturing to the couches. “Please, have a seat. Can I offer you anything to drink? Water, coffee, tea?” 

“I’m fine, ma’am,” he replied as he sat down, habit drilled into him to give her the honorific even though she must be at least a good fifteen years younger than he was. 

She let out a soft laugh as she took a seat. “How strange did that feel, calling me ‘ma’am’?” 

John felt his lips turn up in a quick smile. “A little strange, Ms. Smoak.”

“Well, as long as we know each other, you are never under any obligation to call me ‘ma’am’,” Ms. Smoak said, crossing her legs at the knee. “Ms. Smoak or Felicity: either are fine.” 

Nodding, John felt impressed at how quickly and easily Felicity Smoak could disarm someone. “Yes, Ms. Smoak. I understand you’re in the market for private security.” 

“I don’t want to be, but with my profession, it’s necessary,” she said. “Your discretion and probity, of course, have been attested to. Your company has an excellent reputation, as do you yourself, Mr. Diggle. Not to mention I liked what I learned about your background. Starling City native, four tours in Afghanistan, now returned home . . .” She tilted her head to the side. “Why did you come back to Starling City? I mean, there are many opportunities for a man with your skills. And like the saying goes, you can’t go home again.” 

“I have family here,” John said, leaning back against the overstuffed sofa and trying to appear unaffected that she had already researched him. 

Ms. Smoak nodded slowly. “That makes all the difference, doesn’t it?” 

“Yes, it does.” 

He could tell that she worked very hard to keep her emotions inside. To not reveal what she was thinking or feeling. But for a moment, John was pretty sure Felicity Smoak looked lonely. But then she put on a smile and leaned forward a little. “I suppose you want to know more details about what I need. And I like to be upfront.” 

“Is it a threat against your person, Ms. Smoak? You mentioned your profession . . . ” John asked, appreciating her desire to talk turkey.

She tilted her head to one side and kept her eyes on his face. “I’m a sex worker, Mr. Diggle.” 

Clearly, she was waiting for his reaction. John knew that. And he had heard and seen a lot of strange things in his nearly forty-odd years. But this woman, who looked like a schoolgirl, was a hooker? 

Somehow, all he did was blink. Then he shifted in his seat. “A sex worker.” 

“Yes, Mr. Diggle,” she said, her face calm and even. “For about two years now, although I’ve only been on my own for a few months. I grew up in Las Vegas, and when I ran into problems at MIT and lost my scholarships . . . well, MIT is difficult for anyone to afford. Doubly so when you’re the daughter of a cocktail waitress.” 

“You--you started doing this to pay for your education?” 

Letting out a soft laugh, she nodded her head, her ponytail bouncing. “Cliched, I know, but true. My mom had connections, so I hacked her cell phone and found the number of a local madam. She took me on and trained me. In one summer, I made enough to pay for MIT and then some.”

John admired the fact that she was willing to reveal so much to him. It took guts. And she was probably hoping this would make him sympathetic to her. Which he was--but that didn’t mean he understood what a cute little blonde like her was doing, turning tricks when she had a college degree. 

But saying that would be a lot like intruding into her affairs. And in private security, you never asked questions unless you had to. And John was pretty sure his questions were ones that didn’t need to be asked. Not now, at least. 

Instead, he schooled his face into something more professional. “What do you see my role being, Ms. Smoak?” 

“Protection, Mr. Diggle,” she responded, her voice soft. “Most of the time, my clients should have no idea I have a bodyguard. That’s the way I’d prefer it. I’ve set up video surveillance throughout this suite, and you’ll monitor the cameras and ensure they’re recording, as well as listening for anything that’s out of line.” 

His stomach turned. He was going to watch this woman have sex with the rich and powerful of Starling City? There were a few times when he had to stand by while a client had intimate relations, but he never had been required to _watch_. 

As much as he could tell Felicity needed someone to watch her back, he was pretty sure he couldn’t do this. 

“If you have reservations, Mr. Diggle,” Felicity said, “I’ve been working on some software that would mute the audio and scramble the video feed, unless certain key words are said. Are you familiar with the concept of a safe word?” 

John swallowed. “Yes,” he said, choosing to keep his answer to the bare minimum. Because that was being professional--not because he was embarrassed to talk about kinky sex acts with a woman who was barely old enough to be a woman. 

This wasn’t how he normally felt when it came to female clients. Between his mother and the women he had served with, John had always felt he was capable of seeing women as equals. He didn’t think he provided a different level of service depending on the sex of his client: they each got his full vigilance, whether male or female. Yet something about Felicity brought out a need to protect her. It went slightly beyond the detached persona needed as a bodyguard, which could be a problem. But John thought that if he could admit that he wanted to keep her safe, going beyond the professional to the personal, he could keep his objectivity in place.

“Good,” Felicity said. “The software is designed to operate with a pre-chosen safe word, or to accept one on-the-fly. I’ve tested it already and it’s worked well. So if you take this position, you won’t be watching or listening to anything. If the safe word is uttered, by myself or a client, the audio feed unmutes and the video gets unscrambled, so you can assess the situation and determine if you need to intervene.” 

“Huh.” 

John couldn’t help feeling impressed. Damn impressed. Because that was clever, not to mention respectful. Perhaps it was because she didn’t come from money, but Felicity was attempting to make this easier on him--or on whoever took this job. 

“My clients are thoroughly vetted before I agree to see them. A bodyguard is just a precaution, but better to be safe than sorry. That goes for more than just physical protection--the woman who trained me used that phrase a lot,” Ms. Smoak said, speaking a bit faster than normal. He saw her press her lips together as she finished speaking, watched her keep her eyes closed for a moment, and then her gaze was fixed back on him.

And once again, John felt like there was something special about this woman. Normally, he would question this feeling--question her. Felicity Smoak had secrets, and in John Diggle’s line of work, secrets got you, or other people, killed. Yet even as he knew she was holding back on him, playing her cards close to her chest, his instincts weren’t screaming at him to run. They were telling him to stay.

Since he had staked his reputation and his life on those instincts, John couldn’t ignore them.

Besides, this certainly sounded like an easy gig. Quiet, simple, mostly nights he guessed. That would let him have time to spend with his family, getting reacquainted with his hometown. And . . . it would be nice to work for someone who could actually need him. Ms. Smoak might have men at her sexual mercy, but he thought a kitten could put up more of a fight than she could. 

Lyla used to tease him that he had a knight in shining armor complex. “Where’s your white horse, Johnny?” she would ask him when she thought he was crossing the line.

With a mental sigh, John pushed away the thought of Lyla. “How long do you think you’ll be staying in Starling, Ms. Smoak?”

“At least for a few months, to test the waters,” Ms. Smoak said, a faint of hint of surprise in her voice. “Are you considering taking the job?”

He nodded, feeling taken back when Ms. Smoak smiled brightly at him. “What other questions do you have, Mr. Diggle?” she asked, moving to the edge of her seat. 

They spent a few minutes discussing the rest of the details, Ms. Smoak’s answers confirming his ideas about what this job would be like. The fact that she did not intend for him to travel with her when she left Starling City was intriguing, but another question that he wasn’t in the position to ask.

“Well, Ms. Smoak, I think this could work,” he said finally, giving her a small smile. “When would you like me to start?”

“Tonight,” she said promptly, rising to her feet. “I have a client expected at eight. If you could arrive around six-thirty, I can show you the equipment and make sure you’re settled before I have to get ready.”

Standing as well, John buttoned his suit jacket with one hand, holding the other out to her. “Sounds good, Ms. Smoak.” 

“See you tonight, Mr. Diggle,” she said, pumping his hand enthusiastically. 

For someone so small, she had a hell of a grip, John thought as he extricated his hand from hers. 

XXX

Shifting in the very comfortable desk chair, John took a deep breath. It had been a half hour since Ms. Smoak’s client had arrived, and so far all the equipment seemed to be working. By telling him absolutely nothing about what was happening in Ms. Smoak’s bedroom. 

The computer set-up that she had was something else. Big monitors, fancy mouse that didn’t have a wire to connect it to the computer, and super-fast: it was a far cry from the kind of equipment he had used in the Army or the computers at the Starling City Public Library, where he went to check to his email and stay in touch with his buddies. To be honest, he was a bit nervous at the start, but Ms. Smoak had been so confident in him, his nerves had faded enough for him to get settled in. 

“You just have to wait to see if anything happens that would require your intervention,” she had explained to him. “And if you do, come in and be as intimidating as you feel the situation warrants. Follow my lead and we should be fine.” She paused and gave him a crooked half-smile. “You don’t seem comfortable calling me Felicity, which is fine. But please don’t use my last name in front of a client.”

It was a logical request, so John had nodded in agreement and Ms. Smoak had withdrawn to begin preparing for her client, letting him further explore his room.

Besides the computer equipment, there was a small refrigerator and microwave tucked away in the corner, next to a cabinet stocked with an assortment of coffee, tea and nonperishable food. There was a television and several newspapers, both local and national. 

In short, there was everything that he would need to keep himself entertained and comfortable while Ms. Smoak got paid to have sex. 

John grimaced slightly and rubbed a hand over his face. His brain just kept going back to that--he kept trying to make sense of the fact that Felicity Smoak, the woman least likely to be a prostitute, was one. 

It wasn’t that he was some kind of prude or didn’t understand how the world worked when it came to sex. When he was on his first tour, younger than Ms. Smoak was now, he had been on leave and had ended up paying a woman for sex. The woman was ten years older than him, practiced and efficient. It had been a straight-forward business transaction, and while it had provided him physical relief, the encounter had been emotionally empty. Even as a nineteen-year-old kid, John had realized he wanted more than just a matter-of-fact, business-like coupling when he was in bed with a woman. 

Sex was a commodity, yes, but that didn’t mean he wanted to partake of it. And John just couldn’t wrap his head around a woman like Felicity Smoak--warm, friendly, enthusiastic--being someone to provide sexual comfort for pay. Especially with having that fancy degree from MIT. 

Not that any of this was his business. He was security: he kept his mouth shut and did his job. And if there was one thing John Diggle believed in, it was doing his job. 

Picking up the Starling City _Examiner_ , John leaned back in his chair and attempted to ignore his thoughts about what was happening in the bedroom while getting lost in today’s news. 

Somehow, he managed to do just that, because the sound of Ms. Smoak’s voice made him jump in his chair.

“Orange! Orange!” 

That was the pre-arranged safe word Ms. Smoak had set up in her software. Which meant the video feed was unscrambled. Any reservations John had about seeing something he shouldn’t see fled when he heard the fear in her voice. 

His eyes flew to the monitor, taking in the situation and how the client had definitely not stopped at Ms. Smoak’s use of the safe word, before he was on his feet and walking fast to the bedroom. 

“Ms. S--Felicity,” he said, entering the bedroom and immediately yanking the whip out of the hand of her client, “are you okay?”

“What the fuck--” the client said, turning around and apparently not caring that he was buck-ass naked. But when he saw John, his eyes widened and he took a step back. 

But John’s attention was focused on Ms. Smoak, who was dressed in some kind of black lingerie. Lingerie that allowed the bright red marks of the whip to show clearly against her pale skin. 

“Ms. Felicity,” he repeated.

He watched as she gave her head a small shake before she pushed herself up from the bed, slowly standing up. Even though she was wearing nothing but skimpy black lace, she acted like she was a queen wearing a formal gown and a tiara. And as he took in the way she was looking at her client, John almost felt sorry for the guy--because this client was about to wish he had gotten a punch in the face over what Ms. Smoak was going to deal out.

“This session is over. Your payment will be donated to a local women’s shelter.” 

“Wait, baby, don’t be like that--” 

“It’s over,” she repeated, her voice at a decibel level John didn’t know could be achieved just through your vocal cords alone. “Get your clothes and leave, or you will be escorted out. Roughly.” 

Ms. Smoak’s eyes flicked towards John’s, and he had no problem with eyeing her client and then rolling his neck slightly. Making it even more obvious that he had six inches and eighty pounds on the asshole who went too far.

The client literally paled and then started gathering his clothes. John watched him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t able to keep an eye on Ms. Smoak, too.

A good thing, too, because once the douchebag had his pants on, he faced Ms. Smoak and spit out, “Bitch should know how to take what she deserves.” 

John had heard more than enough. He moved quickly and efficiently, his hands flying out to grab the guy’s wrists. One arm was pinned behind him, the other was pulled up behind his head. For extra measure, John lifted the asshole up a little, so his feet barely touched the floor. The asshole started squirming, moans of pain between his yelps about who he was. 

If the guy struggled too much, he’d likely dislocate one or both shoulders. Something John might have told him, if he cared at all about this sicko.

“I’m a bitch with wifi, Mr. Hunt, and you’re going to find out just what I can do to you with a computer before you’re even outside of this hotel. As per our agreement.” 

Now Ms. Smoak really acted like a queen, with how damn regal she sounded. And that made Hunt the asshole stop struggling really fast. The bastard nearly passed out from the fear--and from the smell of him, he might have pissed himself a little.

A small smile bloomed on John’s face as he ‘escorted’ Mr. Hunt to the elevator, shoving him inside and then casually hitting the button for the lobby. And just as the doors closed, he gave the asshole a little finger-waggle of a wave. 

Damn, that had felt good. 

His moment of levity was short-lived, though, when he walked back into the suite and saw Ms. Smoak. She was standing at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, wearing a robe and tapping away on a tablet. Instead of cleaning her wounds or taking a shower or doing something for herself, she was at work. Ruining that client? John hoped so, because the bastard deserved it. But she also needed to take care of herself. 

Clearing his throat, John said, “He’s gone, Ms. Smoak.” 

“Thank you, John,” she said distractedly. “That’s it for tonight--I can’t see my next client, so you can go home. You’ll still be paid for the full night’s work.” 

He watched her for a long moment, noticing the tension in her small frame. How she was acting as if everything was fine, when he totally doubted that she was fine. 

“It doesn’t seem right to take my full pay when I didn’t work a full night, Ms. Smoak,” he said, clasping his hands in front of him and falling into a modified version of parade rest. 

“Call it a bonus for having to step in on your first night.” 

Felicity Smoak was stubborn and used to getting her own way, John decided. But she had no idea how stubborn he could be. 

“Still, I’d feel better if I could look at your injuries and make sure you're all right. I have medical training from the Army,” he said, his voice somewhere between professional and friendly. 

His words struck home, he could tell. Because she stopped tapping on her tablet, and then, she slowly turned to face him. Her eyes searched his face and he let her scrutinize him, let her try to find the answers to the questions that were swirling in her conflicted blue eyes. And then, like the clouds rolling away after a storm, her whole face cleared and she gave him a grateful smile. “I appreciate that, John.” 

With a small incline of his head, he replied, “You’re welcome, Felicity. Where is your first aid kit?” 

“In the bathroom I showed you, under the sink,” she said, turning back to her tablet. “I just need a minute to finish this up.” 

Rather than argue with her--because after all, he had won and he wasn’t about to rub it in--John nodded and went to retrieve the first aid kit. When he returned, Felicity was standing by the bar cart, pouring herself a healthy measure of whiskey. She glanced at him and held the bottle up to him in a silent question.

“Yes, please,” he said, sitting on the couch and opening the substantial first aid kit. By the time he had checked the supplies, Felicity had sat down beside him, placing their glasses on the table. 

“I don’t think it’s too bad, but since I don’t want any scars, tell me if I need stitches on any of them,” Felicity said, shucking off her robe and turning so that her back was towards him, letting him get a good look at her. 

And John sucked in a breath. Because . . . because something about this woman--something about any human being, really--bearing red, angry-looking welts on her back just felt wrong. And troubling, in a way that spoke deep to the fiber of his being. 

“Are they that bad?” 

Felicity’s voice was kind yet distant, and John realized he had been staring at her back, not moving, for longer than a minute. He gave his head a shake and focused. “Um, no. It doesn’t look like the skin’s broken in any places.” 

“Good,” she said, sounding relieved. “I can just apply a cream I have to help heal the marks.” 

“How do you apply cream to your back?” he asked idly, still checking her for any signs of blood or cuts.

“Trade secret,” she replied, laughing a little as his fingers touched her side, just above her hip. “Sorry, ticklish.” 

If he had a million years, he didn’t think he could figure out Felicity Smoak. Letting out a quiet huff of laughter, he leaned back. “There’s no cuts, so I’d say just use that cream.” It was on the tip of his tongue to say more, but he managed to hold it back. Even though she was young, she clearly knew what she was doing. The way she had dismantled that bastard was proof of that. And he didn’t think she had much experience with someone taking care of her. Putting her needs first. 

It wasn’t sexual or romantic, this feeling he had. It was some strange combination of paternal and brotherly, with a dash of friendship. He wanted to help her, yet he knew that right now, there were limits on how much help she would accept from him. He just sensed that about her, based on his observations and his experience. 

So John would have to hold back, even if he wanted to ask her why the hell she was turning tricks when she could be doing computer work and making plenty of money. 

Felicity’s reasons were her own. And while he was curious--damn curious--he knew how to be patient. 

In time, he thought she might come around. Until then, he would do his job and keep her safe. Keep her safe until she knew how to ask for help, how to ask for caring. 

He knew how to be a brother. He had watched Andy with AJ to have an idea of what it was like to be a father. And he certainly knew how to be a friend. So he would just use all that to give Felicity the help she needed.

And hopefully in time, she wouldn’t need his protection. Just his friendship.

End.


End file.
